Page 43 of Project Duchess
To his surprise, she stretched up to whisper in his ear, “Then by all means, Grey, improve upon the variation . . . if you can.”
Giving in to his craving, he took her mouth once more and slipped his hand over her breast.
Chapter Twelve
Beatrice froze. Grey’shandwas on her breast. She ought to push it away. No, sheoughtto wrench her mouth from his and give him a piece of her mind. That much she’d learned from managing Uncle Armie. Not that it had ever worked. The only thing that had worked withhimwas her leaving or threatening to tell her brother.
But Grey wasn’t Uncle Armie. His kisses were a delight and his blatant and wicked caress an invitation to adventure she badly wanted to accept.
She broke the kiss to whisper, “This is an interesting variation.”
He stared at her with eyes like blue flames in the shelter of the alcove. When she boldly returned his stare, he growled low in his throat before backing her up against the wall behind the pianoforte to kiss her.
Unlike his other kisses, this was a marauding one, fierce and hot and savage. It should frighten her, make her want to fight him off. It didn’t. How could it when every thrust of his tongue, every motion of his hand on her breast, made her come alive?
She slid her hands up to clasp him about the neck, which only freed him to fondle her other breast. Her nipples ached beneath her shift, especially when he tore his lips from hers to say in a voice rough with need, “You’re driving me mad. You know that, don’t you.”
“Should I be sorry?” she managed, though her breath seemed lost in the recesses of her throat.
“I hope you aren’t. Because I damned well am not, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. There was that lovely word again, piercing her as surely as if he’d driven a stake through her. Did he mean it? Did it even matter if he did?
She had no time to dwell on that before his mouth covered hers again and he kneaded her breasts so softly and sweetly that she wanted to stay against the wall forever.
Dear Lord. This was . . .heaven. It made her go all melty inside, like Cook’s delicious Welsh rarebit. She would never have expected that a man could rouse such tumultuous feelings in her. And when her fingers flexed in his unruly hair, mussing it even more, he dropped onto the piano bench, hauling her down with him and onto his lap.
“Grey!” she squeaked. “Someone will see!”
“No one will see.” He wrapped one arm about her back so he could better settle her on his lap. “They’d have to come into the room and turn around. We’d hear them before then.”
“Someone could come in from the garden.”
“No one’s in the garden.” He kissed a path from her temple to her ear. “Shall I stop? I’d rather not. I’d prefer to dothis.” He tugged her gauzy fichu out of her gown, then slipped his hand inside the layers of bodice, corset cup, and chemise to seize one breast and thumb the nipple over and over, seeming to relish its hardening point. “But I can stop. If that’s what you want.”
He was caressing her bosom so deliciously, she could hardly think. “I want . . . I want . . .”For you to do that some more.
Eyes gleaming, he bent her back so he could pull her clothes down just enough to bare one breast.
“What are you doing?” she rasped.
“I’m indulging in another variation. So I can taste you.” The fire in his face seared her.
Taste her? He’d already tasted her. She laughed shakily. “How many variations to this dance are there, anyway?”
“You have no idea,” he muttered, and bent his head to her bosom.
Daringly, he licked her naked nipple as his gaze burned into hers. It sent her quite out of her mind. And when she moaned and thrust her breast up toward his mouth, he proceeded to devour it, using teeth and tongue to suck and torment her so gloriously that she could think only of having more.
This luxurious passion was unlike anything she’d ever felt. She wanted to savor it. To revel in being able to tempt a man like him. Given how he’d reacted after their last kiss, she hadn’t been sure she could.
But when his eyes drifted closed and his hands wandered down her skirts, she was sure of one thing. He desired her. And she, God help her, desired him.
Oh, dear. That was where the trouble usually started. She should end this before they got too carried away. No matter how lovely it felt.
“And you?” She caught his head in her hands, still unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. “What aboutyourpleasure?”
“I want only to keep tasting you.” He sucked her nipple just enough to tantalize. “That’s plenty of pleasure for me.”
